102 ECHOES OF SPORT 



joyous days, surrounded by Scotland's beauti- 

 fullest and best; the magic of the North 

 drawing one close to herself, the cares of a 

 restless world far away ; a deep content into 

 the very roots of being, a memory of bienetre 

 to remain for ever. 



One other experience of sea fishing comes 

 back to me. A far different scene, in the 

 land of Italian skies. To the east of Genoa 

 is a small old fishing village, where I once 

 spent some quiet weeks. As the spring came 

 on, and the nights grew warmer, I used to 

 go out after dark with my friend Cecco the 

 boatman, in his fishing barque, spearing fish. 

 In the prow of the boat was a large brazier 

 filled with pine kindlings, which flared and 

 blazed, lighting the water for many yards 

 around. It was like looking into dissolved 

 emeralds and aquamarines, clear, translu- 

 cent, into which fishes shot or quivered like 

 dark flaws in the glittering jewels of the sea. 



We were each armed with a trident, or 

 rather spear with six or seven prongs. I 

 amused myself mostly practising at station- 



